


Roy and Company

by siriuslymerlin



Series: The Children Are the Future [2]
Category: DCU (Comics), Green Arrow (Comics), Smallville
Genre: Building trust, Family, Found Family, Gen, Mentors, Sidekicks, Tweens, building relationships slowly, set in smallville canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:21:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28663101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuslymerlin/pseuds/siriuslymerlin
Summary: Oliver Queen's idea of a typical Tuesday includes taking down an underground fight club. Of course, he never expected to take on a tween-aged terror, but here he is, showing this kid the ropes, showing him how to be a vigilante, and dealing with more sass than he's ever had to in his life. Roy Harper is a scrawny little punk, but there's something in him that has Oliver coming back again and again, wanting to give this snot-nosed little brat the world.Huh.Maybe this whole biological clock bullshit makes sense.A sort of sequel to "There's Something About Richard." Same situation, different set of capes. Set in my Smallville/Gotham fusion
Relationships: Oliver Queen/Chloe Sullivan, Roy Harper & Oliver Queen
Series: The Children Are the Future [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1686301
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter One

Oliver learns about the fight as himself actually, not Green Arrow. He gets a strange invitation in the mail, a silver card with an address and a few betting slips. The first night he goes, he scopes out the managers, marking who fought for who and noting when money changed hands. The whole thing was illegal in and of itself, Ollie knows, but he can’t help but notice the fighters prodded into the ring like circus animals, looking they wanted to be anywhere but there.

He takes a week to figure out how to help the fighters, secures some menial jobs to help them land on their feet with his company. It’s mostly warehouse stuff, but there’s no harm in offering.

The next time he goes, they’re advertising a special fight. Crowds have gathered, representatives of Metropolis’s elite. Ollie wears a hoodie pilfered from Clark, something old and worn he probably wore in high school. It’s terribly baggy—Ollie tries to not let that get to him—but it does the job.

“Next up, The Tiny Terror facing off against The Crippler!” the MC announces. The Crippler, a hulking man in his late twenties all but swaggers into the ring, and Ollie’s lip curls. Okay, this dude is not getting a job offer. There’s a scuffle on the other side of the ring and Ollie gapes as a small boy is pushed out.

The kid—can’t be more than thirteen—is a scrawny little redhead with knobby knees and sharp elbows. He doesn’t look particularly starved, but his ribs are prominent. He shivers, dressed only in a pair of shiny red basketball shorts and matching sneakers. Someone tosses a ballcap into the ring and he jams it on his head backwards. 

The kid looks up, his mouth twisted back into something between a snarl and a smile. Maybe both. Ollie tense, ready to jump in and get the boy when things go south, but to his complete and utter surprise, the kid lands the first punch, and then the second, and the third.

Ollie understands why he’s called the tiny terror; the kid moves fast and vicious, never once letting up in his attack. He fights dirty, throwing his weight behind his elbows and knees, kicking where the sun doesn’t shine.

Frankly, he’s impressive.

The fight goes on a little longer before the kid climbs the chain link of the cage and propels himself down, driving into his opponent with such force that even Ollie gives a sympathetic hiss.

With that, the fight ends and the newcomers grumble as money’s collected. The kid himself is grabbed roughly by the elbow and dragged out of the ring. Ollie follows, maintaining a careful distance. The kid’s manager pockets a few rolls of cash before offering the kid a few scant bills with a laugh. The kid rolls his eyes, pocketing the money.

“Scram, kid,” the manager says. “You’re not getting any tips.”

Ollie watches the kid carefully, sure he’ll snap and mouth off, but he doesn’t. Instead he grabs his coat, zips it up to his chin, and roots around his pockets, fishing out his key. The kid takes off, shooting his manager a particularly foul look.

Maybe his parent’s a piece of shit, forcing the kid to fight for cash. He contemplates this as he follows the kid all the way to the outskirts of town, to a rundown old neighborhood. There are LuthorCorp billboards up everywhere, promising a brighter neighborhood. Ollie scoffs.

The kid goes to the last door on the block, calling out for his dad. Ollie perches in a nearby tree, with an excellent vantage point and just enough cover.

“I’m home,” the kid calls.

“Roy?” A particularly weak voice answers back. “I’m in the living room.”

Ollie shifts, following the kid’s—Roy’s—shadow through the curtains. It’s funny, leaving your window wide open but your curtains shut. Ollie wonders what kind of man Roy’s father is.

“You take your meds?” Roy asks. Ollie can make out the shape of a thin man, slowly pulling himself to his feet. Roy rushes over, supporting his father. Ollie feels a pang of something, maybe nostalgia, go through him. He doesn’t think about his own father often.

“Who’s the kid here?” his father asks before breaking into a fit of coughs. Ollie sighs, understanding. Kid’s a little mixed up, running with the wrong crowd, but his intentions are good. He makes note of the addresses and heads back.

Over the next week, Ollie keeps tabs on the kid, notes who he hangs out with, how he acts, tries to decipher his strengths and weaknesses. If he’s going to help the kid, he wants this to be a sound investment of his time. 

Home is… quiet. Usually, Chloe comes by, to talk about watchtower, or their league, or sometimes just weird stuff that’s been going on. She’s out this week, though, running something for Clark. He doesn’t mind—she’s really just a colleague—but a little heads up would’ve been nice. She’s a nice distraction from whatever nonsense Lois and Clark are going through.

Ollie rented a movie for tonight, and it’s not even something he likes. Either way, he throws it on, pops open a bottle of champagne and starts swigging. 

He can’t help but let his mind wander, sprawled out on the couch and a little tipsy. He thinks about Gotham, meeting the Dark Knight to convince him to join Ollie’s rolodex. There had been a boy there, grinning and grilling Oliver like it was his job. Bruce had only sat there, trying desperately to stave off a smile. Ollie can admit to himself now he’d been a little jealous.

The next fight, Ollie makes up his mind. He’ll make the kid a deal, offer him a job to take care of Ollie’s golf stuff, or his bows, find some excuse to train him, maybe inspire him to do good. He’s crazy talented, Ollie notes, watching the kid thrash some thrice his size.

When the fight ends, the kid doesn’t go home, no cash changes hands, and he gets booted out. Ollie follows him through back alleys, until the kid makes his way to particularly unsavory street corner. Ollie has to roll his eyes, watching the kid show off his prepubescent game.

“Hey,” he calls out, once the kid’s done striking out with all the girls. “Saw your fight.”

The kid turns, appraising Ollie critically. He stands up straighter, squares his shoulders, and—Ollie notes with pride—tenses subtly for a fight.

“You want an autograph or something?”

“Or something,” Ollie says, smiling. “Want to get a burger?”

“Are you some sort of sick kid fucker or something?” The kid asks conversationally, watching as Ollie recoils back. A heavy curl of dread rises in his stomach at the ease with which he holds himself in the face of a could-be pedophile.

“No,” Ollie says. “Just someone who wants to help. I might have a job for you.”

“What?” the kid looks confused, out of his element.

“We’ll talk once you’ve got something to eat,” Ollie tells him. He didn’t like the look of his ribs, even in jacket. “You like diner food?”

The kid appraises, then shrugs, walking alongside Ollie.

“What’s it going to cost me?” he asks. Ollie doesn’t answer, instead ushering him into a nearby diner. A waitress seat them and hands them a couple menus. Ollie orders a coffee and a coke for the kid.

“Thanks,” he says hesitantly. “So, that job?”

“You know anything about archery?” Ollie asks. Before the kid can answer, the waitress comes back with their drinks, asking for their orders. Ollie shakes his head, but the kid gets practically everything.

“Where are you going to put it all?” Ollie teases. He can’t help but think about grade school again, about making friends with the older kids and basking in their coolness.

“I’m fucking starving,” he says, draining his coke in a couple swallows. He eyes Ollie’s coffee greedily, and with a roll of his eyes, Ollie relinquishes it, wincing as the kid proceeds to empty out the sugar container into the cup.

“You curse like a sailor,” Ollie tells him, trying to sound authoritative. The kid laughs, slurping noisily on the coffee.

“Does that offend you?” he sneers.

“I’m fine,” Ollie assures him. The waitress comes back, arms laden with trays. The kid thanks her heartily, beaming when she offers to refill the drinks.

“I don’t know any archery,” the kid says once he’s had his fill. Ollie snakes a couple of the fries, popping them into his mouth.

“You know any other sports?” Ollie asks. “What are good at in school?”

“No sports, but I’m good in my classes,” the kid says. “I’m in seventh grade.”

“What’s a seventh grader fighting for?” Ollie asks, scanning his face carefully to see if he’ll tell the truth. The kid fidgets, playing the straw wrapper. It occurs to Ollie that he’s probably one of few adults who’s been nice to him.

“My dad’s sick,” he confesses, looking down at his lap. “He needs meds. We couldn’t afford the bills and stuff from the hospital, so my dad had to borrow. I have to pay it back and get his prescriptions filled.”

“And you pay for them with your cut?” Ollie watches him squirm some more before he nods.

“Is this a PR thing?” the asks, looking up finally. “Like, it’s good for you if the press catches you being nice to some poor, unfortunate kid?”

“You know who I am?” Ollie asks, taken aback.

“You’re Oliver Queen,” the kid answers easily. “We used to live in Star City before we moved here. Your face was plastered everywhere.”

“I’m not looking for good PR,” Oliver says. “I want to help you.”

“Why?” the kid asks, cocking his head. “Why bother?”

“I’ve been where you are,” he says. “I used to be angry too. I had this rage and nowhere to put it. I did some things I regretted. I want to help you not make those same mistakes.”

“I don’t fight ‘cause I’m angry,” the kid counters. “I fight because I have to.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have to,” Ollie tells him seriously.

“What, you’re going to pay for my dad’s treatment?” the kid—Ollie forces himself to remember his name—Roy asks.

“Not totally,” Ollie tells him. “You want the job or not?”

“You haven’t told me what it is,” Roy points out, tossing a couple fries into his mouth. Ollie recoils a little; jeez, was he this gross as a teenager?

“I need an assistant,” Ollie explains. “You know, do little chores for me, caddy for me when I golf, that kind of thing.”

“Why me?” Roy asks, more inquisitive than suspicious.

“Well, with you around I know no one’s going to get the drop on me,” Ollie jokes. Roy laughs, pitching his head back and letting his mouth hang wide open. He’s sort of sweet, in a gross teenager way.

“You want a bodyguard?” Roy asks, flexing his barely-there bicep. Ollie scoffs, taking a sip of his coffee.

“I need a caddy,” he says. “And, uh, help with other sports.”

“What, like archery?” Roy asks, cocking his head. “You’re a Green Arrow fan?”

“Something like that,” Ollie says with a private smirk. “You?”

“He’s pretty cool,” Roy agrees. “Not as cool as The Blur, though.”

“God forbid anyone outshine The Blur,” Ollie says, rolling his eyes. “Are you taking the job or not?”

“How much does it pay?” Roy asks, polishing off the rest of his food.

“Enough for you to have a little pocket money,” Ollie says. “But you’ll get insurance.”

“And the insurance will pay for my dad’s treatment?” Roy leans forwards, eyes bright, and suddenly, Ollie gets it, the whole ticking biological clock thing. He could easily see himself with a couple of blonde rugrats running around. Maybe he could get Roy to babysit.

“If it doesn’t, you come talk to me,” Ollie tells him, fishing out a business card and a pen. “Here’s the address. You come by after school on Monday, alright? We’ll talk more then.”

Roy pockets the card, staring at the table. He’s got a surprisingly serious look on his face, like he’s taking the weight of the world on his bony shoulders.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. Ollie tries for a smile, hoping it comes out normal and not melancholy.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next Monday, Oliver waits nervously in his office for Roy to show. His HR head bitched and moaned about getting a new employee set up in a matter of days and picking insurance for them. Ollie had shushed him and promised he’d deal with the money side of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Just a little context, this is taking place in the Smallville canon during the episode where we first meet Mia, but instead of Mia, I’m giving you Roy! Enjoy!

Next Monday, Oliver waits nervously in his office for Roy to show. His HR head bitched and moaned about getting a new employee set up in a matter of days and picking insurance for them. Ollie had shushed him and promised he’d deal with the money side of things.

A quarter to 4, the kid shows, wearing an oversized hoodie and a ratty pair of jeans, as well as the same red ball cap, perched backwards on his head.

“Yo,” he says, letting out a low whistle. “Cool place.”

“Thanks,” Ollie says with a wry smile. “You ready?”

“For what?” Ollie doesn’t answer, instead leading Roy to the training room. Roy stands in the doorway, surveying the place.

“Did you bring me here to fight?” he asks quietly. “You want me to be your own personal fighter?”

“No,” Ollie says emphatically. “You’re not going to fight anymore. I brought you here to teach you something.”

Roy relaxes just a touch, following Ollie in. He opens the weapons cache and pulls out a simple bow and a quiver of basic arrows, hitting the button to let the targets up through the floor. Roy exclaims, running over to check them out.

“Come here,” Ollie says, tapping with his foot where he wants Roy to stand. “Stand up straight, feet shoulder width apart. Quarter turn to your dominant hand.”

Ollie gives him the bow, adjusting his grip. He’s pretty good, his stance solid and his grip secure. He’s a fast learner, easily picking up how to nock the arrow.

“Pull back to you mouth and take aim,” Ollie instructs, taking a step away in case he fumbles.

“Focus,” he says. Roy looks completely at ease. “Release.”

The arrow flies straight and strong, embedding itself into the edge of the middle target. Roy nearly drops the bow in his excitement.

“Did you see that!” he crows. “I hit it! I hit the target!”

“Good job,” Ollie says warmly. “I want you to keep going until you hit the bullseye on each target from here, got it? Then you can be done for today.”

“That’s it?” he asks. ‘You just want me to practice hitting the targets?”

“You betcha,” Ollie says. “I got some work to do but come get me when you do. Remember, it only counts it you shoot from where I told you to stand.”

The kid gets to it, so Ollie sits at his desk, getting some work done. If he finishes by seven, he’ll patrol until one, so he can actually get some sleep tonight.

Half an hour later, the door bangs open and a very startled Ollie looks up from his desk to find an angry and ranting Lois Lane. For a second, his breath catches, because she’ll always be one of the most beautiful women he’s ever laid his eyes on, but he forces that mess of emotions away.

“Can I help you?” he asks in a dry tone. Lois rants about Clark and their new morning show, which wow, he cannot see Clark doing, though he’d pay big money to watch.

“I need a show-stopper date,” Lois says, looking at him with wild, determined eyes.

“Did I hear a hot lady in need of a date?” Ollie ducks his head to laugh when Roy comes sauntering out, shirtless but still wearing the ball cap. “What’s up? I’m Roy.”

“Who’s the kid?” Lois asks, raising her eyebrow. Roy looks her up and down shamelessly, flexing and preening. Jesus Christ.

“Uh, this is Roy,” Ollie says, suddenly nervous. How’s he supposed to explain what he’s doing?

“I gathered,” Lois says. “You lose your shirt, short stack?”

“Hey, I’m fun-size,” he says. “Portable for your convenience.” Ollie really does lose it then, cracking up. Roy goes bright red, clashing horribly with his auburn hair, but he thankfully shuts up. Lois rolls her eyes, shaking her head at Roy.

“Uh huh,” Lois says, shooting Ollie an inquisitive look. He fights to get himself under control.

“Uh, yeah, I’m just mentoring the kid,” he lies. Roy doesn’t contradict him, thankfully, and plops down on the couches. Lois looks a little impressed.

“Mentoring huh?” she asks. “How it going?”

“I’m learning new sports,” Roy offers. “You got snacks, mentor?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you something,” Ollie promises hurriedly. Lois uncrosses her arms, smiling at him kindly. Christ, he needs to get a hold of himself.

“I’m proud of you,” she says softly. “You’re turning things around.”

“Thanks,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’ll, uh, see what I can do about your blind date problem.”

“Thanks, Ollie, I owe you one,” she says, rushes over to press her lips to his cheek before dashing off.

“So, mentor,” Roy sneers. “Who was that?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, grabbing the landline and tossing it to him. “Order a pizza, will you? Meat lovers.”

“Sure,” Roy says, twirling the phone around his palm. “After you tell me who that was.”

“That’s Lois Lane, she’s a—“

“That’s Lois Lane?” Roy cries, leaping off the couch. “I read all her stuff!”

“You do?” Ollie asks. He didn’t think teenagers read the news.

“Dude, of course I do!” Roy says. “She’s the superhero reporter! She writes about everybody, the Blur, Green Arrow, the Flash sometimes, even the Batman. All of them!”

“Don’t forget Black Canary,” Ollie chuckles, but Roy nods his head, entirely serious.

“I’m going to marry her,” he says, dead serious. Ollie laughs again, playfully batting Roy’s cap off his head.

“Just order the pizza.”

\--

If Lois is going on blind dates in front of Clark, then he at least has a shot. It’s either now or never, Ollie figures, paying off the shmuck who was supposed to be Lois’s date tonight. The guy pockets the hundred easily, breezing off to do whatever losers like him do at night.

Lois is a little gob smacked to see him, sure, but she smiles thankfully when he explains. Of course, when he tries to tell her how he feels, Lois hauls him off camera, breaking his heart as kindly as possible.

Ollie didn’t know what he expected. That thing that’s been brewing between Lois and Clark has been cooking since before he knew her, and he’s not being fair to Clark, trying to move in on his girl.

Ollie forces himself to disregard the fact that she’d been his girl, once.

Outside, Ollie takes a stroll through the back alley, where he parked his car. It’s one of the more inconspicuous ones, a plain gray BMW. He reaches for the door when he feels a heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder.

“Hey, rich boy,” someone sneers. Ollie whirls around, but the guy has him fast, pinning him to the car. He thrashes, trying to get a good look at who has him. He knows the voice.

“So, how much do you think the car will go for, kid?”

“I don’t know! But he has others, and he has more stuff! More than enough to pay off the debt.” Ollie’s heart sinks even lower; Roy’s the one who gave him up.

“You think so?” The goons all laugh, and Ollie tries to push up, but the guy who has him has all of his weight sitting on Ollie’s hips and shoulders.

“Oliver?” Lois’s voice rings out in the alley and Ollie really starts to thrash. No, no, no, he is not putting Lois is danger, no chance. There’s a yelp and grunting, then a soft groan he knows is Lois.

“Leave her alone!” Roy screams. There’s another thud and he’s silent. Okay, he needs to think. Ollie shifts his feet inch by inch, looking for enough leverage. The guy’s big and this is going to be murder on his back, but Ollie’s faced worse. He sucks in a deep breath and twists hard, knocking the guy on his ass. There’s a moment of surprise before all hell breaks loose and everyone’s fighting. Roy gives it his all and is surprisingly drift compatible. Usually, Ollie’s a solo guy, but Roy effortlessly fills in his blind spots and gives him cover.

They grab Lois, who’s crushing bad-guy-toes under her wicked stiletto’s, and dash up into a smaller, narrower alley.

“That was crazy!” Roy crows, face flushed and eyes bright. Ollie grabs his shoulder, jerking him to look him in the eye.

“Explain yourself right now!” Roy seems to deflate, cowering a little, and Ollie immediately stops. He can’t help the memory that suddenly comes to mind, of drop-off day back at boarding school, where Lionel Luthor had grabbed his son and had shaken him around, hissing at him to behave. Ollie remembers the secondhand fear that had rooted him to the spot, and his own father’s hand, kind on his shoulder, gently leading him away.

“That’s not how a real father behaves,” he’d said. Ollie lets Roy go instantly.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Just, start from the beginning, what happened?”

Before he can answer, gun shots go off and all three of them crouch, frantically looking for cover. Ollie spies a rusted old ladder a few feet above the ground and motions to it. He helps Roy up first, then Lois, before swinging himself up.

The gunfire follows and Ollie sees the culprit, Roy’s so-called manager. They’re effectively trapped, but if he can protect Lois and Roy, Ollie’s sort of okay going out like this. The gunman takes aim, Ollie grabs Lois, who grabs Roy, sandwiching the boy in between them. Ollie forces him lower, so he won’t take any of the heat, tucks Lois’s face into his chest, and waits.

The gun fires.

Nothing happens.

There’s a blaze of heat and a rush of wind and the gunman is down, his weapon a molten mess at his feet. _Clark_ , Ollie thinks. Thank god for Clark.

“Come on,” Ollie says, breaking the tense silence. “Let’s go.”

Thankfully, the car isn’t damaged when they get back to it, and the goons are gone. Ollie surreptitiously sends him a thank you text and stows his phone, opening the doors for Lois and Roy.

“Oliver, look—” Roy starts, but Ollie shakes his head.

“Later, okay?” he says. Roy nods, looking down at his hands. “I’m just glad everyone’s okay.”

“Drop me off at the Planet, will ya, Ollie?” Lois asks, pushing her hair out of her face. “I have a story to write.” Ollie laughs, but nods, dropping her off. He turns to Roy in the backseat. “Want shotgun?”

Nimbly, Roy climbs over the seat and drops into the seat. He looks nervous, and to Ollie’s surprise, ashamed.

“So,” Ollie says as casually as he can manage. “Want to tell me what the hell just happened?”

“I…” Roy messes with his fingers before sucking in a deep breath and looking Ollie straight in the eyes. “I was supposed to fight last night, but I didn’t show. They came to my house, asking for the money, so I had to sell you out. They were going to hurt my dad.”

“Roy,” Ollie groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I didn’t know what you could do,” he says. “I didn’t know you could fight. Where did you learn?”

“Google me,” Ollie grumbles. “I’m taking you home. I’m sure your dad’s worried about you.”

“I’m toast,” Roy says, slumping in his seat. “He didn’t know where the money was coming from. I lied to him and told him it was from my mom. Child support, you know?”

“Look,” Ollie starts, a heavy sense of responsibility curling in his gut. It’s like picking up his bow, he realizes, going out night after night because something deep inside won’t let him sit still. It’s that same feeling that won’t let him just leave Roy. “I’ll square things away with your dad, alright?”

“You will?” Roy looks at him incredulous. “You mean I still have my job?”

“If you want it,” Ollie says. “If you promise to work hard.” He’ll just show the kid the ropes, and the rest will be up to the kid. It’s a hard life; Ollie won’t drag an innocent into it against their will. Besides, he’ll teach him other things too, like business sense.

“I will!” Roy promises, eyes bright. “I swear!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tune in next week for more of the genesis of speedy! Let me know what you thought!


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Harper residence is just as run down as Ollie remembers, but it looks like they made a real effort with the interior. There are pictures of Roy everywhere, his cheerful little face plastered on every wall like wallpaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey gang! Getting to the turning point and smoothing over some of the logistical stuff. Hope you enjoy!

The Harper residence is just as run down as Ollie remembers, but it looks like they made a real effort with the interior. There are pictures of Roy everywhere, his cheerful little face plastered on every wall like wallpaper.

“Dad,” Roy calls out cautiously.

“Roy!” His father hobbles out, supporting himself on a cane. Ollie blanches a little at the site of him. He’s thin in the extreme, his gaunt face pale and covered in a sheen of sweat, like the very act of existing hurts him. He’s missing a leg, too, but Ollie forces himself not to look at that. “Is that—”

“Oliver Queen, sir,” he says, holding a hand out. Mr. Harper shakes it suspiciously, frowning at Roy. “I helped Roy out of a sticky situation.”

“Thank you,” Mr. Harper says reluctantly. “Uh… please, take a seat. Roy, get him something to drink.”

“I’m okay,” Ollie assures him. “Actually, I just wanted to talk about Roy for a second, if that’s alright.”

“Did he… did he do something, is he in any kind of trouble?”

“No, sir, just the opposite,” Ollie says brightly, fishing a business card out of his pocket. “He qualified for the Queen Industries Future Athletes Scholarship.”

“I did?” Roy asks, incredulous. Ollie made the whole thing up last night, at nearly three in the morning. His HR guy had called, furious to find out that they’d hired a thirteen-year-old. After about thirty minutes of listening to a lecture on child labor laws, Ollie got creative.

“Yes, he did,” Ollie says pointedly. Roy sits next to his father, handing him a glass of water. Mr. Harper drinks the whole thing, some water dribbling down his chin. “It’s a scholarship for middle grade students who show a lot of athletic promise, like Roy.”

“I see…” Mr. Harper says, still suspicious. “What, uh, what does this entail?”

Ollie explains his plan, about how Roy will “join a junior league and represent the company” in exchange for a stipend, health insurance, and possible scholarships.

“What, uh, excuse me,” Mr. Harper breaks off coughing, prompting Roy to jump up and refill the glass of water. Uncomfortable embarrassment creeps up his neck and cheeks, staining it red. He feels like he should help somehow. “What sport is Roy doing?”

“Archery,” Roy answers with a knowing smirk. “Just like the Green Arrow.”

“Yeah… archery,” Ollie agrees. Kid’s too smart for his own good. Roy grins at him wolfishly. Ollie can almost see the gears whizzing through his head, and he swallows hard, working to keep the smile on his face.

“What do you need from me?” Mr. Harper asks.

“Just your signature on some permission sheets,” Ollie explains. “An HR rep will be by later to go through the logistical things later.”

“Roy, you want to do this? It sounds like a lot of work.” Roy laughs at the question, slumping into the armchair.

“It’ll be fine, dad, seriously,” he assures him. “Tell him about the healthcare benefits, Oliver.”

“What benefits? What exactly does this scholarship entail?” Mr. Harper levels Ollie with a particularly sharp glare, which is pretty astounding considering his emaciated state.

“We’re… putting in a solid investment with the hope that our return will be—”

“Olympic,” Roy finishes. “Or, at least, famous.”

“What do you expect from him right now?” Ollie fishes out a couple pamphlets from his coat, handing them over. He’s pretty proud of those, actually; he spent the rest of the night banging it out. They outline the imaginary time commitments, the pretend meets, and especially how things might be unpredictable. Mr. Harper spends a long time reading through them, setting them aside with a sigh.

“Alright,” he says finally. “Where do I sign?” Roy perks up, eyes bright with hope. Ollie swallows hard at the sight, something warm and—dare he say—fuzzy blooming in his chest.

Oliver’s not a lonely person, not now. He’s got Clark, his team on the occasion, Lois, and Chloe. But there’s something about kids that is decidedly different. He knew Bruce Wayne when they were both kids, and seeing him again a few weeks ago, it was like that broken kid never even existed.

“I’ll walk you out,” Roy offers after all the papers are signed and taken care of. Ollie makes sure to promise that Roy will be alright, and thank Mr. Harper before he follows Roy out. The kid’s wearing this big, shit eating grin on his face, like he just can’t wait to get Ollie alone.

“Green Arrow,” Roy says the second they clear the front door. “You’re Green Arrow!”

“You wanna be any louder? Maybe the people down the street couldn’t hear you,” Ollie hisses, rolling his eyes.

“Dude!” Roy says, ebullient. “I get to work with Green Arrow!”

“Roy, that wasn’t an actual suggestion before,” Ollie says. “Keep your voice down!”

“So, what does that make me? Your partner? Like the Robin is for the Batman?” Roy ignores him entirely, plowing ahead with an enthusiasm that makes Ollie smile, despite the volume.

“I think they’re just called ‘Batman and Robin,’ kid,” Ollie corrects. “And no. I’m just… training you.”

“To be a superhero?”

“No, just… to keep you off the streets,” Ollie justifies. Bringing a kid into the life is just asking for trouble, and for a second, Ollie starts to plan. Roy scowls, his chin jutting out in defiance. It’s very nearly a pout, which de-ages Roy considerably.

“So, when do I get to be a cape? Is there a test or something? Or like a class?”

“No class, no tests… just something to keep you occupied,” Ollie explains, although it sounds flimsy even to his ears. “It’s not like I can stop you when you’re an adult.”

“So, am I the next Green Arrow or something? Are you dying?” Genuine concern flickers over Roy’s face, mingling with disappointment.

“I’m fine,” Ollie assures him. “Whatever you do in the future is up to you, alright? I just… noticed you have a lot of potential. You’re a good kid, you help your dad, you just need a little guidance.”

“So, you’re just going to keep training me, like we did the other day?” Roy asks, a little disappointed.

“Have you ever seen Robin work? Because I have and he’s very capable,” Ollie explains. “You might be good in a fight, but you’re disorganized, and in case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t Gotham. Metropolis is a hot bed for organized, sophisticated crime. It’s subtle, and we have to be smart, not just strong.”

“You said ‘we,’” Roy points out, shit-eating grin back on his face. “I can be smart. I get good grades and my teachers say I have plenty of potential.”

“Kid, you’ve got a lot to prove,” Ollie says.

“I can do it,” Roy says simply. “I’ve got you as a teacher.”

\--

True to his word, Roy drops by the penthouse every day for a few hours. Ollie watches him work, noting his progress and moving him onto bigger and better bows as he starts mastering them. He’s exceptionally fast, with wicked aim.

Ollie’s even settled into a routine now. After Roy leaves, Ollie has a couple hours to finish up work before Chloe swings by for patrol. She’s settled back into running comms for him, and it’s nice, having someone in his ear. It’s nearly like having a partner, and it makes him think of that night Roy fought by his side.

Tonight, though, Chloe comes by early. Ollie’s still with Roy, teaching him how to use a pretty complex crossbow. It’s something he favors, though Roy seems to prefer the compound bow. She breezes into the room, but stops short by the entrance, just watching them. Roy nails a trio of bullseyes, doing a dumb little dance to celebrate.

“Nice moves,” Chloe calls, getting their attention. Roy jumps, whirling around to find Chloe. He blushes sharply, entire head going as deep auburn as his hair. He fishes the ballcap from his back pocket, jamming it onto his head backwards.

“Jeez, Ollie, you just keep a group of hot women around to surprise me or what?” Roy says, shamelessly ogling Chloe. She scoffs, a wry little smile on her rosebud lips. Ollie rolls his eyes, whirling the bill of the cap around and slapping it down over his eyes. Chloe laughs at that, her green eyes sparkling.

“Hey,” Ollie says a little awkward, looping an arm around Roy.

“I’m Chloe,” she says, offering her hand out. Roy shakes it awkwardly, a sheepish little smile on his face. “I’ve been wanting to meet the newest member of our team—”

“Not a member, just training,” Ollie reminds her. They haven’t actually met yet, considering Chloe’s been pretty caught up in the latest alien drama, but it seems that things have simmered down on the Kandorian front at least.

“Future member,” Roy concedes, a pout befitting a much younger child on his face.

“Either way, nice to meet you,” Chloe says. “Looks like you’re making some serious progress.”

“I’m pretty much an expert,” Roy postures, jutting his hip and tilting his head up. Chloe quirks an eyebrow, shooting Ollie a look that screams “is this kid for real?”

“I’m sure,” she says, shaking her hair. Her golden hair flutters about her neck, and momentarily, Ollie’s throat goes dry. She’s flushed a little there, near the hollow of her throat. He blinks, jarring himself out of the weird observation. “Hey, Ollie, can I talk to you about the…”

“Oh! Yeah, definitely,” Ollie says. “Alright, pal, time for you to go. Make sure you—”

“Yeah, yeah, text you as soon as I get home, I know the drill,” Roy says, waving his hand dismissively. He flips his cap backwards, gives Ollie and Chloe a little two-finger salute, and heads out.

“So, about the fight ring,” Chloe says. “I did some serious digging to get real names. Turns out they have a pretty solid geek squad at their disposal.”

“Not better than you, right?”

“Oh, please, we’re pretty hard pressed to find someone better than me,” Chloe brags, a pleased smile quirking the edges of her lips. It’s been a while since he saw her smile like this, loose and relaxed. Clearly, she has something good.

They’ve been investigating the fight ring for a while, trying to figure out who runs it and how to shut them down. Of course, considering their clientele, it’s been pretty complicated, but Chloe is the master at untangling messes.

“What do you have for me?” They work the case for a while, and Ollie takes note of all the potentials to check out during patrol. Hopefully, he can track down something useful. Ollie heads out around eleven, Chloe running comms for him as usual.

The lead is pretty solid, and it takes Ollie to some mid-tier bosses. The fight is so easy that it’s boring, and Ollie even gets some names out of them before leaving them for the police to deal with. He’s in a spectacular mood when Chloe gets his attention, voice frantic.

“Ollie, oh my god, I just saw,” she says, words blurring together in a rush.

“What? What happened?” he asks, instantly on edge.

“Roy’s been trying to call us for hours,” she explains. “I don’t know how, but he got a hold of my number and—”

“I gave that to him for emergencies,” Ollie interrupts, dread swirling heavy in the pit of his stomach.

“He… he’s at the hospital,” Chloe explains, softer now. “He needs us to meet him there.”

“What happened to him?” Ollie chokes out the question, a fear like he’s never known slamming into him like a freight train.

“Ollie, he’s okay,” Chloe assures him. “I mean, physically, at least.”

“So, what happened?”

“It’s his dad. Roy says he took a turn for the worse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, so I’m sure you can guess what’s about to happen next, but stay tuned! Let mw know what you thought!


End file.
